Unregrettable
by Innocent Magic
Summary: True to a pledge made in first year, James, Fred, Roxanne and the rest of the Gryffindor 7th years are determined to make it to graduation with no regrets. Lots of OC pairings, humour, angst, and other juicing stuff. Eventual James/OC, Freddie/OC. Warning: some OC slash.


Every September 1st marks a new beginning. Sometimes it's the beginning of one of those timeless loves they write novels about, the ones that have the capability to change the course of Wizarding history, like that between James and Lily. More often, it's the beginning of the sorts of close friendships people on the outside are jealous of, or don't understand, or think of as too quaint and cliché to be normal: the Golden Trio, the Marauders, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan. Each time a new generation of students step onto that platform, the weight of all those new beginnings presses down on them.

Some eighteen years after the end of the Second Wizarding War, a huddle of tiny first years gathered together in a train compartment on the Hogwarts Express, discussing just that. Or, really, nothing quite that mammoth – they were more concerned with the usual problems of first years: namely, how to make their mark on the castle.

A knock at the door disturbed the small group from their inane conversation about the Ragged Hinkey's new record and alerted them to the presence of two more girls. One was tall, with ridiculously long blonde hair that brushed against elbows already covered by school robes. The other was best described as pixie-like, a wee sun-kissed creature with wide dark eyes.

The taller was the first to speak: "Mind if we join you? Everywhere else is full already..."

"No problem, we've a bit of room left by Georgie," smiled a pretty freckled redheaded girl, gesturing to a free space beside a delicate looking girl opposite. "I'm Roxanne. The scary looking one is Anwen, but she insists she's never eaten any children which I personally don't believe at all because just look at her with those pincers and all and –"

"Breathe, Roxanne!"

Exaggerating wildly, she did as she was told. Then, grabbing the wee girl who'd told her to in a headlock, continued unfazed: "And this is Corra. Corra Maddocks. Mad Corra Maddocks. Evil thing. Proper, truly evil." She paused.

Paused some more.

"Bossy, too."

"Behave, Roxanne!"

Awkward laughter punctuated an awkward silence, before Anwen decided it was only polite to ask the names of the new girls too.

The blond spoke first: "Edith, Edith Finch", and then the petite pixie: "I'm Delilah, but call me Rhees, _please_. It's my surname and so much less a mouthful."

And then all of a sudden they were seated together, giggling and gossiping as though they hadn't just met barely an hour before. The trolley had been by once already, and a small pile of empty wrappers was growing at their feet while a fat mothball of a cat – "His name's Lord Furthermore and he's highly distinguished for a cat!" Corra had tried to argue – mewled and whined until they let him have a sweet or two. Sweets that were promptly spat out in disgust.

As the sky began to grow darker and the scenery outside became wilder, the topic of conversation turned to Hogwarts itself.

"My sister, Nerys, left last year, actually," said Anwen, her accent strong and Welsh and gravelly. "She kept going on this summer about regrets and stuff."

"Regrets?" Corra asked, squinting her nose in confusion in a way that pushed her thick rimmed glasses up her face. "Like what?"

"Like, like... I don't know! Like boys and Quidditch and boring stuff like that, mostly. Couldn't understand it myself, to be honest. She'd been saying all the time before that how brilliant Hogwarts is."

"Dom's been the same lately," piped up Roxanne. "My cousin, I mean. Apparently I have to join every club I can else I'll never be an Auror. What good is playing gobstones when beating up a bad guy?"

"Auror?" asked Georgiana. As a muggle-born, she had to admit she'd had very little clue what was happening the past while; she was happy enough to sit back and observe, waiting until something was discussed that it could be useful to know.

"Dark wizard catcher," the others chorused.

A silence settled over the six young girls as they mulled over this development. How was it possible to regret spending seven years at a school of magic? All the adults ever spoke about were the 'good old days' in school. They were supposed to be amazing automatically!

"I don't think I want to regret Hogwarts," slurred Rhees wearily.

The others murmured their agreement, the mood suddenly very dour.

With a look of no-nonsense in her bambi eyes, Roxanne abruptly, and very loudly, cried, "Let's make a pact!"

When no one replied, she continued, "If we make a pact not to have any regrets, then we can't have any when we're all grown up and old and in seventh year. And if we do, then, well... erm –"

"A pact sounds fun!"

"Aye, fantastic idea, Roxie."

Not a minute later, the six were arranged in a circle, hands extended into the middle, faces serious. Anwen spoke first, shooting each of her new friends a defiant glare. "We here all agree to not leave Hogwarts with any regrets. Speak now if you don't wish to make this sacred commitment."

No one spoke; it was difficult to tell if this was a result of Anwen's truly terrifying ability to keep a stare. For Corra, at least, it was more a case of her being too befuddled by the use of the word 'sacred' than anything else that had her silent.

"Okay then, we're agreed. No disappointments."

Then Edith, hair falling over her face as she nodded: "That means no boys left unkissed."

"No Quidditch team not tried out for," Roxanne added.

"No club not joined."

"No Hogsmeade weekend missed,"

"No secret passageway not found."

Six hands high-fived; six girls fell back against the thread-bare seats of the Hogwarts Express. That was the moment the bond between the Gryffindor girls was forged.

* * *

Of course, they hadn't known then that they'd end up in the same house. Roxanne had been subtly assessing each of them throughout the journey, trying to sort them for herself, and she was convinced at least one of them would end up a Hufflepuff. Corra, especially, was too sweet to be a lion, surely.

Yet Professor Longbottom kept reading their names from that archaic scroll of his, and one by one they were directed to the Gryffindor table.

Nothing embarrassing had happened, really, to Roxanne's displeasure. She'd been hoping a Slytherin might trip over or something, anything to ease that serious, insufferable tension that blanketed the Great Hall while they all queued up, waiting to be called to sit on a grubby little stool. She should be excited, she knew that, but then, well, what if she wasn't a Gryffindor?

Her father was a legend of the Gryffindor house; her mother had captained their Quidditch team. Most of the Weasley family for generations had been sorted into the house of bravery and courage and, okay, so logically she was a perfect fit: she was the type of child who would climb a tree as high as possible to see if she could, and who wouldn't back down from a challenge, no matter how stupid it might be. But the niggly voice in her head, the one that sounded like her spiteful cousin Molly, kept her wondering if maybe the definition of bravery had changed between London and here, if maybe the Sorting Hat would find her more reckless than anything. Then she'd be placed with the Puffs herself and would have to endure Molly's simpering, smug grin forevermore. That'd be pure torture – not even an angel could endure that bi-

"Weasley, Fred."

She'd missed almost the whole ceremony; she'd tuned out after Georgie, and that was way back with the 'L's. Where James had been put, she had no idea, and now was not the time to worry about that. Now was the time to support Fred, who looked pale as her mother on April Fools' Day at that moment.

His movements were sluggish, shaky. Where was the cheeky and confident grin? Dear Merlin, did she have the sort out all the problems of the world today?

Deep breath, knees bent. Then:

"Woo! Go Freddie – wooooo!" she cheered, like a blond in an American feel-good film.

The room was looking at her; Neville was scolding her. It didn't matter though, not when her twin was looking a little less peaky again.

Even better when the damned hat finally called, "Gryffindor!"

"Weasley, Roxanne."

* * *

As it turned out, Roxanne had always been destined to wear red and gold, just as had Freddie and James. So there were then twelve of them in a merry band of eleven year olds, bright-eyed (with tiredness, mostly) and determination not to waste their next seven years.

* * *

A/N: More soon, but please leave reviews to make me happy? I'll also be continuing The Little Copper Cooking Pot at the same time as writing this. They're very different worlds, with very different versions of James, and quite different styles of writing, but I'm just a 20 year old student on holiday who needs a distraction between work and football.


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